


ghosts in the hallways

by thedevilbites



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Allison-centric, Alternate Universe maybe??, Author kinda prattles on about stuff, Character Study, More late night randomness, Not in order whatsoever, The exploring Allison fic nobody asked for, Time Skips, dark energy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:49:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27415267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilbites/pseuds/thedevilbites
Summary: She is the worst sort of animal.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	ghosts in the hallways

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively, don't ask what i was thinking because i WASN'T

She waits till her lips are dry and splintered, then rips the skin off of them in smooth, stretching strips. 

Allison snorts, and then she cackles.

The blood wells up soon after. 

She’s not like the other kids.

When Allison wants something, she _gets it._

“I heard a rumour...” she murmurs, fingers outstretched and curving like dragon claws, eyes beady and black like a rat’s. 

She is the worst sort of animal. A hollow, perfectly-tailored species of beast. 

“...that you stabbed yourself in the neck,” she finishes, voice like syrupy poison, and it distills in the mind of the beholder, sticky and dripping as the truth.

There is blood on her hands, but everyone has at least _some_ skeletons in their closet, she supposes.

Besides, there’s little that a sixties pin-up dress and a pair of banana-yellow heels refuse to hide. 

Astonishingly little, in fact. Except racism, of course, but she’ll get to that later.

Meanwhile, the yellow heels walk onward, and she sways like a disarming spectre within them.

There is a furious, creaking wind and vehement vibrations and a shadowy tornado unfurling besides her.

Allison is rarely frightened, but perhaps this would be an occasion to be so. 

It feels like she’s watching from the sidelines, like she’s another spectator object whirling in the energy around them, when Vanya takes two steps forward, and slits her throat.

It happens fast, as death usually does. Blood like stray ribbons fluttering to the ground spills from her throat, and it eats through her clothes and her skin and the hardwood beneath her in a sweeping, synchronous motion.

Allison gags, and she sputters for oxygen that refuses to come and she chokes and she chokes and she _chokes_ —

“The Devil does not die, honey.”

She’s six, and she’s clutching her blue-and-pink dotted blanket up to her chin. The window is peeled open wide, and there’s a slight chill in the room. Her feet are cold.

“What are you talking about, Mom?”

“The Devil does not die.” Her mom’s eyes are like two identical pearls. Natural. _Nature._ Priceless. They cloud over with an incandescent sheen. 

Mother comes closer, and Allison opens her mouth on instinct. “I heard a rumour—that you jumped off the ledge.”

She’s six, and she’s lying in bed. She’s a parody of a little girl, and she’s no longer frightened.

**Author's Note:**

> it was late, so i can't be blamed for my actions lol
> 
> come say hi on tumblr! @thedevilbites


End file.
